Philosophers of Maybe
by D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Summary: [COMPLETE] What if Cassie never pursued the case? What if Richard and Justin went free? The boys have to make an escape.
1. You Knew It Would Start at the Bluff, Di...

"For all the value that the true, the truthful, the selfless may deserve, it would still be possible that a higher and more fundamental value for life might have to be ascribed to deception, selfishness, and lust. It might even be possible that what constitutes the value of these good and revered things is precisely that they are insidiously related, tied to and involved with these wicked, seemingly opposite things - maybe even one with them in essence. Maybe! But who has the will to concern himself with such dangerous maybes? For that, one really has to wait for the advent of a new species of philosophers such as have somehow another and converse taste and propensity from those we have known so far - philosophers of the dangerous "maybe" in every sense. And in all seriousness: I see such new philosophers coming up."   
--Nietzsche   
"Beyond Good and Evil" Part One, On the Prejudices of Philosophers   
*-*-*-*-*-*   
A/N: This is a response to the "Fixation" (www.acherontia.net/mbnfic/) fanfic challenge: What if Cassie never pursued the case? What if Richard and Justin went free? And so, this ficlet is what I present you, my lovely readers.  
  
Warning: *Explicit* Richard/Justin slash! EXPLICIT! DO NOT READ THIS IF SLASH IS NOT YOUR BAG, BABY!!  
  
"Philosophers of Maybe"  
a murder by numbers fanfic by SchizoAuthoress schizoauthoress@hotmail.com  
  
They were at the bluff again.  
  
Justin Pendleton stood with his hand on the driverside door handle of his car, glaring at the redhead sitting on the hood and smoking a cigarette. Richard Haywood ignored him until he carelessly tossed away the dead filter tip and said, in a characteristically arrogant voice,  
  
"I knew we'd pull it off."  
  
"Would you kindly get *off* of my car, then?" Justin said in a tone equal parts of icy and bored.  
  
"Why?" Richard asked provokingly, leaning back onto the windshield. "Am I getting ass-prints all over a new wax job or something?"  
  
Justin sighed and flicked a lock of his dirty-blond hair out of his dark blue eyes. "Actually, I was going to go home now."  
  
Richard laced his hands together behind his head, discreetly observing the fuming blond. Justin was biting his lower lip as if to keep some outburst of emotion inside himself. Richard strongly doubted whether it was because he was sitting on Justin's car, but rather because Richard was being so flippant. Justin hated it when Richard was not serious when he himself was.which was almost all the time.  
  
"You can come home with me." Richard said suddenly. Justin looked at him, a bit startled.  
  
"Aren't your parents home?"  
  
Richard replied with a careless shrug. "I don't think so. Anyway, what's wrong with you coming over to my house? We'll just say that you're helping me--"  
  
"Study?" Justin finished, sarcasm dripping from that one monosyllable. Richard swung himself into a sitting position facing Justin and stared at him. Justin shook his head and said blankly, "Why don't we just go to the police station and turn ourselves in?"  
  
Richard laughed suddenly. Justin looked extremely miffed as he crossed his arms and glared.  
  
"I fail to see what is so funny."  
  
"You are just so goddamn paranoid, Justin!" Richard snickered, "They said the case was closed. I bet Mayweather doesn't take a shit without asking her superiors first."  
  
"I certainly did *not* get such an impression of that woman."  
  
Richard raised an eyebrow and commented, "You're talking like a college- prep essay again."  
  
Impatiently, Justin raked one hand through his long blond hair. "All I'm saying is that we should be a little more careful until we're sure this whole thing blows over!"  
  
Richard leaned forward and snared Justin around the waist, pulling him back so that they were both leaning on the side of the car. His tone was gentle, teasing, as he murmured, "It's okay. Nobody cares about us again. Just like it was."  
  
"It is not." Justin whispered softly. Although his eyes avoided the gold- brown gaze Richard studied him with, he relaxed in the redhead's embrace. Richard moved his right hand to place it on Justin's pale cheek, running his thumb slowly over his boyfriend's full, velvety lips.  
  
"Okay," Richard responded, with a slight grin, "not *just* like it was. Better, I think." He captured Justin's mouth in a slow, deep kiss, nibbling gently on his lower lip.  
  
A muffled, tiny sound of surprise from Justin shifted into a pleased murmur as he parted his lips and returned the kiss. Then, he pulled away and whispered in a breathy voice, "I agree."  
  
Richard smiled, really smiled this time, not a teasing grin or the sly half- sneer that usually twisted his mouth. "So, you coming to my house or not?"   
****   
to be continued.  
  
Sorry. But I need to construct dialogue of the second scene, and I really, really wanna post this! Review, I'll have part two up by next week. I promise! ~~Schiz 


	2. Parents Who Needs 'Em?

"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he does not become a monster himself. For when you gaze long into the Abyss, the Abyss also gazes into you."  
--Nietzsche  
"Beyond Good and Evil," Part Four: Maxims and Interludes  
*-*-*-*-*-*   
A/N  
::hugs her reviewers:: You guys rock!   
Obsessed-fan-Aren't they, tho? It's up, it's up, happy now??   
Piper-Glad you like.   
Katherine-Another Justin-fangirl! ::Deathglomp:: I'll try to get more descriptive talk about His Hotness in later parts...  
A few people might have noticed in part one that I call Richard a redhead. This isn't true red (think Rupert Grint, AKA Ron Weasley), but more reddish- blond (Like the illustrations on old Nancy Drew hardcovers ::wink::). Justin's hair is dirty blond, meaning that, depending on the light, it can be anything from true blond to light brown to brown. I just don't want you guys to think that I'm a flagrant moron who hasn't even see the movie if I describe them these ways. (I did watch it in theaters, but there were these asshole bitch-girl who kept a cell phone on during. Plus, I was with my mom, and couldn't enjoy the homoeroticism as much.)  
  
Warning: *explicit* J/R slash, slight alcohol use (what's wine and Sprite to absinthe?), and---to quote Pepper Ann---"Ac-ti-on, bay-beh!"  
  
Note: I got the idea for this while buzzing off two glasses of wine and soda (yeah, I'm a friggin' lightweight.) and I *wrote* it on paper right after. No major revisions, so excuse me if it gets a little.odd.  
  
"Philosophers of Maybe"  
  
Richard came back from the kitchen with two wineglasses and set them on the coffee table. Then he went away again, returning with a three-quarters- full bottle of burgundy and a 16-oz bottle of Sprite.  
  
Justin started to ask, "Richard, won't your parents notice if. . ."  
  
"Nah," Richard interrupted, "My mom goes through this stuff like water,"  
  
Justin watched as he began to fill one of the glasses. "Only half for me," he requested softly, "I still have to drive home."  
****  
Justin was lying with his head in Richard's lap. Richard was casually playing with his hair, the redhead's warm fingers sometimes moving to gently brush against his features. It was quite a bit later than Justin had meant to stay, and the wine bottle was empty.  
  
He realized this with a smile. -Oops,- he thought, unable to carry the thought farther than that, although part of him wondered why it was so amusing to himself that he was drunk.  
  
Somewhere outside, a car pulled into a driveway. Some of Justin's paranoia reasserted itself, and the panic center of his alcohol-fogged brain screamed, 'Richard's parents!'  
  
He jerked himself into an upright position. The room tilted and did a half- spin, steadying itself only with the reassuring pressure of Richard's hands on his shoulders. Justin could feel the heat of Richard's palms through his dark-colored dress shirt---'97% cotton, 3% lycra' popped into his head very annoyingly. And he was probably imagining it, but he could have sworn that Richard winked at him right before closing the short distance between their faces for a kiss.  
  
The wine was stronger on Richard's lips, and dizzying, nearly masking the warm cinnamon taste of his mouth that Justin was so familiar with. Justin's brain was obviously still at least partially disconnected, as it failed to register Richard's successful efforts to remove his shirt. In fact, Justin didn't realize it until Richard pulled him a little closer. Justin recoiled slightly from the unexpected coolness of his shirt buttons, cleverly deciding to remedy the situation by getting Richard just as undressed as he was.  
  
Richard's hands were hot on his bare shoulders, his back and sides, as though there was a fire beneath his skin, transferred to Justin by the sublime contact of their exposed flesh. Richard's mouth dropped to delve the soft hollow of Justin's throat, to tease him.  
  
Justin's perceptions were faded, relatively dreamlike, except for the ones concerning Richard. The young man beside him was very real, in fact nearly *more* real than Justin himself. Justin was unaware that he had unfastened Richard's belt buckle until he was pressed to the cool leather of the couch cushions, Richard straddling his hips and ravaging his soft, full lips almost brutally.  
  
-So there is an advantage to wearing baggy jeans,- Justin reflected as he slipped his hands past Richard's loose waistband. -Mine, of course. . .- he amended, pulling Richard closer and feeling the hard proof of his arousal.  
  
"Wait,' Richard gasped, "wait, wait."  
  
Justin understood. He slid his hands up Richard's bare back, his fingers tracing the barely perceptible ridge of backbone through his tight muscles. Richard shivered.  
  
"Justin." he breathed, and Justin smiled. Smiled and pulled him down for the passionate, no-holds-barred variety of kiss.  
  
"Richard Haywood!" A hoarse female voice cried, absolutely shattering the mood.  
  
They broke apart. Richard looked up, surprise and apprehension on his handsome features. Justin propped himself up on one elbow and twisted around to look in the same direction.  
  
Rita Haywood stood in the entrance to the living room, as much of a shell- shocked expression that her rendered-mostly-plastic face would allow. She seemed unable to take in the sight in front of her.  
  
-Oh, crap,- both guilty parties thought, and that about summed it up.  
  
"Lawrence!" Rita shrieked, her chain-smoking habits and Southern roots made more apparent, "Lawrence Miles Haywood, get your ass in here!"  
  
Richard shoved himself back onto the arm of the couch, retrieved his shirt, and tugged it on. Justin, blushing furiously, snatched up his own clothes and dressed quickly.  
  
Not a moment too soon, it turned out, as Lawrence Haywood stormed in. Focusing on his wife, he shouted irritably, "What in the hell are you *screaming* about?"  
  
Rita yelled back, "Your son! Look at what he's doing, look at who he's with! And on my white couch!"  
  
Lawrence turned and stared, either unwilling or unable to process what he was seeing. Justin gave an awkward little cough, and everyone was suddenly looking at him.  
  
"Perhaps I had better go,' he mumbled into the silence.  
  
"Yeah, you'd better," Richard whispered.  
  
"Stay put," Lawrence barked. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"I'm Justin," the blond replied, injecting calmness into his voice that he certainly didn't feel. "Justin Pendleton."  
  
"My *boyfriend.*" Richard appended defensively, earning a glare from his father.  
  
Rita piped up in a shaky voice, "He is not."  
  
"He *is.*" Richard said with a half-snarl.  
  
"Don't contradict your mother." Lawrence snapped automatically.  
  
Justin said, in the blank and unemotional tone that Richard hated (and perhaps feared a little bit), "I am, though."  
  
Lawrence ruffled at the 'challenge' he perceived in Justin's answer. The territorial fury was clear in his voice as he shouted, "You are not, because my son is not a queer! And I won't have you. . . *polluting* my house and my family with your. . . with your. . . homosexual perversion! Now, get out of here, dammit!"  
  
Justin shrugged elegantly, picking up his black bookbag from the floor, and walked to the front door. He glanced over his shoulder and said softly, "Goodbye, Richard."  
  
Something in Justin's eyes, those wounded blue orbs, reminded Richard of an abused puppy, and it tugged at his heart. "'Bye, Justin," he whispered huskily.  
  
Justin shouldered his bag, opened the door, and walked out.  
  
****  
to be continued. . .  
  
A/N: Parents are evil, aren't they? Lawrence is an exaggerated version of my own dad, and so will Mr. Pendleton be. Why torture the boys like this? They need an excuse to skip town (which, I have not yet been able to locate. . .there is no Wilmont, CA. . .), otherwise Cassie might think that they are "evading justice" once she gets back on the case. Of course she'll get back on the case, persistent bitch. And she'd chase them down on a wing and a prayer if they didn't have some kind of reason (other than being temporary murder suspects) to leave.  
  
Review, please! Thanks! 


	3. Interrupt One of Richard's Makeout Sessi...

"Take care, philosophers and friends, of knowledge, and beware of martyrdom! Of suffering 'for the truth's sake'! Even of defending yourselves! it spoils all the innocence and fine neutrality of your conscience; makes you headstrong against objections and red rags; it stupefies, animalizes, and brutalizes when in the struggle with danger, slander, suspicion, expulsion, and even worse consequences of hostility, you have to pose as protectors of truth upon earth - as though 'the truth' were such an innocuous and incompetent creature as to require protectors! . . .Rather, go away. Flee into concealment. And have your masks and subtlety, that you are mistaken for what you are not, or feared a little. . . .The martyrdom of the philosopher, his 'sacrifice for the sake of truth,' forces into the light whatever of the agitator and actor lurks in him; and if one has so far contemplated him only with artistic curiosity, with regard to many a philosopher it is easy to understand the dangerous desire to see him also in his degeneration (degenerated into a 'martyr,' into a stage- and platform-ranter)."   
--Neitzsche "Beyond Good and Evil" Part Two, The Free Spirit   
****  
"Philosophers of Maybe"   
a murder by numbers fanfic By: SchizoAuthoress  
  
Warning: slight OOC-ness, I think. . .and cursing. Definitely cursing, as I'm focusing on Richard this chapter. ;)  
  
"Philosophers of Maybe"  
  
Richard was only half-listening to Lawrence's tirade about how "ashamed" he was of Richard's behavior with "that queer" and so on. Richard wasn't worried at all. His father hadn't touched him, in affection or anger, since the first grade.  
  
" . . .do I make myself clear? You're not to see this Jason--"  
  
"Justin," Richard corrected automatically.  
  
"Whatever!" Lawrence snapped furiously. "You're not going to go anywhere *near* that little faggot. I'll disown you. . .don't think I won't."  
  
"All right," Richard said in his supposedly 'deferential to Daddy' tone. Lawrence *always* bought it, and this time was no different, "May I go now?"  
  
"You're staying in the house."  
  
Richard shrugged. "Okay, whatever you say, Dad," he deadpanned. It was a habitual response that didn't mean anything.  
****  
Richard walked up to his room, quietly shut the door, and locked it. Then he went to his closet and dragged out a large black suitcase.  
  
-If that bastard thinks he can control *me* anymore, he's got another thought coming,- Richard told himself. -I'm outta here. For good.-  
  
He found, to his surprise, that he could not exactly hate Lawrence Miles Haywood for the way the man felt. It was just the way things were, like he and Justin 'just were'. The methodical procedure of packing had a very calming effect on his thought processes. In fact, the events of the day were probably the closest that Richard had ever come to having an actual plan.  
  
His clothes and shoes were in the black suitcase. His camera equipment, which he had brought to his room after Justin found out about his voyeurism, was in its own case. He was definitely bringing that--and the videodiscs--along, even if Justin would throw them in a trash compactor, as the blond had threatened once.  
  
A smile flickered momentarily over his features at the thought of Justin driving his car into a city dump and chucking handfuls of computer discs into a trash compactor along with a junked '54 convertible. Not likely to happen, but amusing nonetheless.  
  
His cell phone was charging on the desk, next to his computer. He disconnected the adapter and punched in Justin's home number.  
  
Four rings and a woman's voice came on the line. "Hello. You've reached the Pendleton residence. We are unavailable to take your call. Press one to leave a voice-mail message for Katherine. Press two to leave a message for Justin."  
  
"Dammit," Richard hissed. He pressed 2. A different message than the one he was used to played.  
  
"Richard, you know I never check my voice-mail unless under strong coercion. Just send me an e-mail, or call back sometime later, okay?" A slight pause, then, "Talk to you then, I love you."  
  
"Strong coercion, huh?" Richard said loudly, after the beep. "How's this for strong coercion, Justin? If you don't pick up the phone right now-- because I know you're at home--I'll leave an obscene message to you on your mom's---"  
  
"Hello?" Justin sounded slightly breathless over the phone.  
  
"I knew that would do it," Richard gloated.  
  
Justin sighed. "What do you want, Richard?"  
  
"Truthfully, I'd like to be fucking you senseless right about now, if that's what you mean." Richard murmured huskily.  
  
"Not *that,*" Justin said irritably, "Why are you calling me?"  
  
"Think you can come by late tonight and pick me up? I wanna get out of here."  
  
A short, thoughtful silence interposed itself between them, after which Justin asked, "Out of your house, or out of town?"  
  
"You pick up quick, babe." Richard said, purring the last word in a way guaranteed to provoke his emotionally taciturn boyfriend.  
  
"Don't call me that. Answer the question." Justin said shortly.  
  
Richard responded with similar brevity, "Out of town, yeah."  
  
"You planned this, didn't you?"  
  
"Not exactly. It just happened."  
  
Justin let this pass without his usual comment about how things didn't 'just happen.' Instead, he instructed quietly, "Be by the street on the side of your house at one. I'll be there."  
  
"'Kay," Richard agreed, and that should have ended the conversation. But he whispered softly, "Love you, Justin."  
  
"Love you. See you in about five hours. . ." A smile tinged Justin's voice as he finished, "babe."  
****  
At one-fifteen in the morning, idling at a red light, Richard asked, "So, where do you want to go?"  
  
"This is your brilliant plan, Richard." Justin replied noncommittally.  
  
Richard leaned over, kissing Justin's cheek. "I told you, it's not really a plan. And, if you're not going to give me any input, I order you to drive over to the Nile nightclub." He nibbled at Justin's earlobe and rasped, "We'll stay there until *we* make up our minds."  
  
"The light's green." Justin said in a slightly strained voice.  
  
Richard smiled and began trailing damp kisses down the side of Justin's neck. "So go."  
  
"I can't drive with you. . .hanging on me. . .like this." Justin mumbled.  
  
"It's not that difficult," Richard slid one hand up the inside of Justin's thigh, "just keep the car straight between the lines."  
  
"You horny son-of-a-bitch. . ." Justin groaned, pulling away from the intersection.  
****  
to be continued. . .  
  
Oh yeah! Hate me, baby! I'm evil! Review chicas, please do! 


	4. Coffee Has Many Uses

"The spiritualization of sensuality is called love: it represents a great triumph over Christianity. Another triumph is our spiritualization of hostility. It consists in a profound appreciation of the value of having enemies: in short, it means acting and thinking in the opposite way from that which has been the rule. The church always wanted the destruction of its enemies; we, we immoralists and Antichristians, find our advantage in this, that the church exists."  
  
--Neitzsche, "Twilight of the Idols, or How One Philosophizes with a Hammer" Part Five: Morality as Anti-Nature  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
"Philosophers of Maybe"  
  
a murder by numbers fic by SchizoAuthoress  
  
Justin managed to fend of Richard's insistent advances by parking outside of a Starbucks and cheerfully informing the redhead that he was going inside.  
  
"Why?" Richard asked.  
  
"I'm going inside to buy a grande triple-shot hazelnut latte to dump on your lap if you don't stop trying to cop a feel."  
  
That went over well.  
  
"You're no fun," Richard pouted childishly, glaring at Justin with pretended injury. So Justin leaned over and kissed him, sucking gently on his prominent lower lip, coaxing him out of his snit.  
  
"I'll show you fun," Justin whispered throatily, "but later, okay?"  
  
"Promise?" Richard asked hopefully.  
  
"Promise."  
  
****  
  
The Nile was a small nightclub with a maximum occupancy of 200. On average, about 500 people were packed in there, some at the bar and some in the front room where passed-out ravers were dumped to recover. The Nile was infamous for the prolific use of psychedelic drugs and the number of sexual assaults that took place there.  
  
-No wonder Richard wanted to come here,- Justin thought, leaning back against his car's trunk, watching Richard pal around with a couple of his buddies from school. Mostly, the guys Richard was talking to were skaters, with a jock or two also present. Definitely not the type that Justin voluntarily associated with.  
  
"Hey, Rich," Todd Fritz, Jefferson High tight end, was saying, "who's the freak?" And he pointed to Justin.  
  
"That's Justin."  
  
"Justin?" Mike Mierr repeated. Tugging restlessly on his wallet chain, the spiky-haired skater asked, "Wasn't that your biology tutor's name?"  
  
"Same guy." Richard answered. As explanation, he continued, "Justin drove me here."  
  
"Richard!" Justin called, and they all---like lemmings---turned toward him. "It was your idea to come here; you going to stand outside the place all night?"  
  
Night was the correct term; at 1:45 in the morning, it was still pitch- dark. Richard shrugged and left the group, making sure that they saw him put an arm around Justin's waist when he got to the car. Mike yelled,  
  
"Hey, you two have fun now!" and grinned conspiratorially at Richard.  
  
Justin barely turned his head to look at Richard and raised an eyebrow. "What was that about?"  
  
"Oh, Mike's a good friend," Richard replied cryptically as they entered the Nile.  
  
****  
  
It was almost four o'clock when Justin dragged Richard out of the Nile, with some help from Richard's friend Mike Mierr. Literally. Neither young man was especially strong, and the redhead was very out of it.  
  
"Ecstasy," Mike pronounced as he propped Richard up by Justin's car, "not a lot, but I've seen him use it before. He'll be pretty much hung over tomorrow, then he'll be fine."  
  
"Thanks. . ."Justin fumbled for a name.  
  
"Mike," the brunet said with a smile, offering his hand. They shook, and Justin smiled tentatively. The guy was nice, and an admitted good friend of Richard's.  
  
"I guess I'll see you later," Justin said, although he knew he most likely wouldn't, "and thanks again."  
  
"No problem," was the last he heard from Mike, because by the time he had convinced his drugged-out boyfriend into the car, Mike had disappeared back inside.  
  
****  
  
Justin got on the freeway, driving south to San Luis Obispo, where they would get on I-5 and go north. Sacramento, Eureka, Portland, Spokane, Seattle. . . all were up that way, and when Richard regained his lucidity, they'd choose.  
  
He glanced over at Richard and smiled tenderly. The redhead had the seat all the way back and was curled up, sleeping fitfully. Justin smoothed back his hair with a gentle hand and murmured softly,  
  
"Sleep well."  
  
END PART FOUR 


	5. Does the Room Service Send Up Fluff?

"But now let us notice what is strangest about the will - this manifold thing for which the people have only one word: inasmuch as in the given circumstances we are at the same time the commanding and the obeying parties, and as the obeying party we know the sensations of constraint, impulsion, pressure, resistance and motion, which usually begin immediately after the act of will, inasmuch as, on the other hand, we are accustomed to disregard this duality, and to deceive ourselves about it by means of thc synthetic concept 'I,' a whole series of erroneous conclusions, and consequently of false evaluations of the will itself, has become attached to the act of willing - to such a degree that he who wills believes sincerely that willing suffices for action. Since in thc great majority of cases there has been exereise of will only when the effect of the command - that is, obedience; that is, the action - was to be expected, the appearance has translated itself into the feeling, as if there were a necessity of effect."  
--Nietzsche   
"Beyond Good and Evil" Part One, On the Prejudices of Philosophers   
*-*-*-*-*-*   
  
Dedicated to a fish called sid (I demand that you go to the reviews and click on the link to Sid's profile, the kid rocks at writing!), redrose2310 (my stalker-reviewer ::wink:: I know you're not, but that's your nickname!), and Jessica Shelby (the weird, the wonderful, the awesome Jess!).  
  
"Philosophers of Maybe"  
a murder by numbers fic by SchizoAuthoress  
  
They had been in Redding for a few hours, and Richard was nervous. It had taken them about seven and a half hours of driving time to get there from San Luis Obispo, but it had been two days since their secret escape from Wilmont. This was because they had stopped periodically for breaks, in Santa Cruz and Napa. For reasons that Richard couldn't figure out, Justin had insisted that they under no circumstances stop in San Francisco. [1]  
  
The only reason they had actually gotten a hotel room in Redding was because Justin needed a break from driving, and, although he wouldn't admit it, Richard felt the same way. When he complained about the delay, Justin had snapped back, "Look, I want to get to Vancouver as much as you do, but maybe you won't object to staying in one spot for a little while? I'm sick of staring down somebody's taillights!"  
  
By now, Richard had stopped twisting his thumb ring and was tapping it against the metal leg of his chair. Justin was lying on his stomach on one of the full-sized hotel beds. The blond glared at his companion over the top of the "Necronomicon," translated into German by Von Juntz.  
  
"What?" Richard asked when he noticed. Justin shook his head, returning his gaze to the printed page with an exasperated sigh. Richard got up and leaned over Justin to get a look at the book's cover. He asked, "What are you reading?"  
  
"The 'Necronomicon,'" was Justin's short reply.  
  
"Necro-what? Is that about dead people?"  
  
Justin's eyes were reproachful, as if Richard had just asked whether two plus two equals four. He sat up, setting the book aside once he'd placed the bottom of his bookmark above the exact line where he stopped reading, and quoted in perfect German, "Gestorben ist nicht, was fur ewig ruht, und mit unbekannten Aonen mag sogar der Tod noch sterben." He smiled in a vaguely superior way at the annoyance in Richard's brown eyes once he'd finished.  
  
Richard slid next to him and reminded, "I took French. Translation, please?"  
  
Justin let himself fall backwards onto the matress and repeated the quote in English. "That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even Death may die."  
  
"Huh. Interesting."  
  
"Right," Justin snorted, "Not to you, though."  
  
Richard lay down beside him and asked, "Why do you read German books so much? I mean, I don't go looking for Madame Curie's notes on...whatever the hell it was that she did, in the original French."  
  
Justin's shrug looked a little odd with him lying on his back, but he answered seriously, "I wanted to be able to read Nietzsche in German, the way he wrote it. The other stuff is just for entertainment, and because I can."  
  
"You going to live your entire life according to Nietzsche?" Richard grinned impudently, "And die of syphillis-induced insanity?"  
  
Justin huffed with annoyance. "Only if you decide to fuck some dirty slut one night," he muttered, reaching for his book.  
  
Richard pushed the "Necronomicon" off the bed and pinned Justin down by his shoulders. "What was that?"  
  
"I said," Justin breathed, "I'd only get syphillis if you did, first."  
  
"I'll take that as a promise of fidelity, instead of an insult," Richard mumured, leaning down to kiss the boy trapped by his body. Justin responded immediately, parting his soft lips and sweeping his tongue into Richard's mouth. An involuntary sound of pleasure burst from Richard's throat, muffled by their kiss. Their bodies moved together as though by magnetic charge, and they broke apart with extreme reluctance.  
  
Richard kept his lips just barely brushing against Justin's, feeling the other boy's warm breath mingling with his own as he slid his hands under Justin's black shirt. Justin murmured playfully,  
  
"I take it that you approve of the stop here."  
  
Richard raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How do you figure?"  
  
"Mm-m..." Justin slid his hand down Richard's front, whispering huskily, "I have my sources..."  
  
"Christ," Richard swore with vehmence, as Justin groped with the row of buttons fastening his jeans.  
  
Soon enough, their clothes were scattered around the bed, and they were in a rapture of wet mouths upon each other, naked flesh to naked flesh, heartbeats thundering hot. It was an ecstasy resultant of their union, whether as simple as a kiss or as intimate an act as making love.  
****  
Richard finished arranging the covers and lay down beside Justin, tenderly kissing the blond on the cheek. Justin sighed drowsily and snuggled against Richard's bare chest to sleep. Richard placed a protective arm around his lover and smiled as he too fell asleep.  
  
END PART FIVE  
  
More A/N: Aww, fluff! See, I can do sweet cotton-candy writing just as well as sad, dark, torturous angst! I don't know if I should do any really lemony scenes...I got a good reaction with my Harry Potter lemonfic, but I don't think that I am good enough to do an explicit sort of scene. Any opinions? (You probably wanna read Chapter Two of "A Very Good Friend I Don't Know At All" to give you an idea of what I'm capable of.)  
  
[1] Ooh, footnote! This is probably the only hint that I've given so far that "No One Knows" ties into "Philosophers of Maybe." 


	6. Richard is Only a Whore for Justin

"One must test oneself to see whether on is destined for independance and command; and one must do so at the proper time. One should not avoid one's tests, although they are perhaps the most dangerous game one could play and are in the end tests taken before oneself and before no other judge. Not to cleave to another person, though he be the one you love most--every person is a prison, also a nook and corner...One must know how to *conserve oneself:* the sternest test of independance."  
  
--"Beyond Good and Evil" Part Two; The Free Spirit  
  
"Philosophers of Maybe"  
  
Part Six: Phone Calls  
  
Katherine Pendleton looked up bleakly as the phone rang. She had no doubt as to who it was, and even though the late-night movie she was watching was as boring as getting her teeth cleaned, she loathed the idea of answering it. But the fifth ring broke her will; she picked up the reciever and greeted softly, "Hello, this is Katherine."  
  
"Kathy, daaarling!" Rita Haywood slurred loudly. Katherine moved the phone away from her ear just a bit. Rita had called every night for four days, drunk as a skunk, since the boys had gone away.  
  
"Rita." Katherine bit back a sigh and inquired politely, "Are you all right?"  
  
"I was just calling to see...if that son of yours had called you yet, like the note said. And I'm fine," Rita mumbled, "Just fine. I miss my son."  
  
There was a glint of ice, of steel in Katherine's eyes as she replied with the darkest calm, "I miss Justin as much as you miss Richard. But I've told you that I will call you the instant that Justin contacts me." In a moment like this, it was easy to see where Justin got his demeanor and his self-control.   
  
"You bitch," Rita moaned, dissolving into shameless sobs, all restraint and artificial politeness gone, washed away by alcohol, "You absolute *bitch!* Why won't you let the police go after them?"  
  
There was a detail to the situation of which Richard was ignorant, and therefore he could not have considered it the night he decided to pack his bags and skip town with his boyfriend. At the time they left, both had finished high schoool. But while Richard was eighteen, a legal adult, Justin was a month and a half from his birthday, only seventeen years old. Richard might be charged with kidnapping, but California law was a bit fuzzy on whether seventeen years of age was still minor status. If he was charged, California police could pursue the young lovers.   
  
However, Katherine refused to press charges. She further complicated the situation by producing records of an emancipation request that was in the process of being reviewed by the county court for Justin. She also presented the investigaors with a handwritten letter from Justin affirming the young man's decision--of his own free will--to go with Richard. So the case fell into a grey area. There was nothing criminally wrong with two legal adults, even if they were a same sex couple (California's anti-sodomy laws were repealed effective 1976), leaving their hometown.   
  
"I've explained myself before, Mrs. Haywood. Good night." Katherine said icily, hanging up.  
  
****  
  
Dear Mother,   
  
By the time you read this, I will have already gone. This is probably the worst possible way to tell you this, but Richard Haywood is my boyfriend. We had decided together that it is best if we leave Wilmont for good. Mr. and Mrs. Haywood already found out about us, in a more embarrassing way, and needless to say, neither of them were very happy about it. They want to keep us apart, and I just can't let that happen.   
  
Richard is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. He loves me, inclusive of all my faults. And I love him, no matter what happens. It has been a difficult decision to come to, and I have thought about it extensively. This is not something I decided one night in bed with him.   
  
Right now, writing this, I can't tell you where we are going, because I don't know. I don't think that Richard does either, but we'll be out of California, at least. I will call you when we get to wherever. I love you, Mother. Stay strong, for yourself this time around.   
  
Your son,  
  
Justin  
  
****  
  
The phone call came a week later. Unfortunately, Katherine was at work when Justin called, and she played it when Rita Haywood called that night.  
  
"Hello, Mother. It's Justin." Faintly, in the background, Richard could be heard scoffing,   
  
"No, I'm sure she gets *other* young men calling her 'Mother' all the time."  
  
Muffled, probably because Justin had covered the mouthpiece, "Oh, shut up, Richard." And then clearer, "Mother, Richard and I are in Seattle. I don't want you to worry. We've got an apartment, it's downtown and--"  
  
"You don't have to tell her everything."  
  
"Richard, hush. The tape is going to run out if you keep interrupting."  
  
"Well, I don't think you should leave it on a message. My parents might find out; you know that they're completely insane."  
  
"Oh, that's nice. Mom? I'll try back later. I love you."  
  
****  
  
"It's freezing out here," Richard grumbled. Justin looked back over his shoulder and grinned, one of his rare, sunny smiles that Richard loved so much.   
  
Pulling his heavy overcoat tighter around his body, Justin replied, "Well, you're the one who didn't want to keep going to Canada."  
  
Richard increased his pace and grabbed Justin's shoulder. Justin stopped cooperatively and looked up at him, his pretty blue eyes still bright with a smile. Richard fought the sudden urge he had to kiss Justin in the middle of the supermarket parking lot and answered with a scowl, "Canada would be even colder."  
  
"We'll go to Hawaii the first chance we get," Justin said softly, their little in-joke.   
  
Richard sighed. "Yeah, yeah...I know."  
  
Sometimes, Richard wondered, 'What if I had given in? What if we didn't get away with it?'   
  
The possibilities were always unpleasant. But the lack of possibilities that Richard faced--all the time, now, it seemed--was in some ways worse. After all, how painful is a gunshot wound to the head? How agonizing is a lethal injection?   
  
But then he looked at Justin. Justin was his angel, his beautiful lover, his best friend, his everything. And Justin made it all worth it.   
  
****  
  
After putting away the groceries, neither of them had much to do, so Richard suggested that they go for a walk. Justin eyed him with suspiscion, knowing by now that with Richard, a walk was never as simple as a walk.   
  
"You have something devious planned," Justin accused.   
  
Richard grinned disarmingly. "Would I do that to you?"  
  
"Yes." Justin said flatly.   
  
Richard looked hurt. "Have you no faith in me?" He sidled over and nuzzled Justin's neck, dropping a gentle kiss at his jawline. Justin immediately flushed and tried to push Richard away, unsuccessfully. With a playful growl, Richard wrapped both arms around Justin's waist and moved his lips up to Justin's soft mouth.   
  
"Richard!" Justin gasped when Richard finally released him.   
  
Flashing Justin an would-be innocent look, Richard murmured in a sing-song voice, "I love you..."  
  
"Don't try that fake sweet-talk on me, Richard Haywood," Justin scolded, backing out of Richard's grasp. Richard followed him, grabbing his wrists and pinning him against the wall. Justin gasped and nearly pulled his arms free, but Richard only tightened his hold and kissed him urgently.   
  
"Please?" Richard whispered huskily. "Please just trust me? I promise to be good."  
  
Justin let out a low moan of frustration. He hated being manipulated like this, but how could he resist? Richard was kissing him as though he were as vital to sustaining life as air. And he promised...he promised; Richard hardly ever backed out of a promise, and never without a very, very good reason if he did.  
  
"All right," Justin sighed when Richard finally granted him a reprieve in his 'persuasions.' "All right. Let's go before you start using sex against me."  
  
"Prude," Richard teased, licking Justin's neck just to see the young man blush and shy away.   
  
"Whore." Justin shot back.  
  
Richard grinned. "Only for you, babe."  
  
**** 


End file.
